All Life is Prologue
by MuseDePandora
Summary: She is now Ginevra Potter. He is still Draco Malfoy. But they will become so much more to each other. DH-Compliant.
1. Eighteen Years Later

**All Life is Prologue**

By MuseDePandora

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the brainchild of J.K. Rowling and thus belongs to her and whomever she sells the rights to, which is not me in this case. This piece of fanfiction is written with the admiration and respect of Harry Potter's creator. I claim no ownership of her creations. No profit is or will be made from this material.

Summary: She is now Ginevra Potter. He is still Draco Malfoy. But they will become so much more to each other.

Rating: T, suitable for teens 13 and older.

Author's Note: I saw this story as a gentle challenge. I wanted to write a Draco/Ginny that was epilogue compliant. I didn't want either of their spouses portrayed as either bad people, which would feel like an easy way out. I also wanted to try the idea of one scene per year, showing the progression of their relationship in both a concise and far-reaching manner.

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**Eighteen Years Later**

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She never liked being a Weasley, but being a Potter didn't hold to its promise either.

The label, 'Weasley,' was like gum on the bottom of her shoe, filling her with embarrassment when people heard the sound of it and noticed. Potter was glue. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't pull it off. She had mistaken it for stability. It was easy to appear steady when all anyone ever did was stand in one place. She was sick of the view from Harry Potter's shadow; secure as the entire arrangement might seem.

"Madam Potter."

She felt her jaw clench at the sound of it.

All she heard was what went unsaid: expectation and patronization folded together, one on top of the other, made into something thick and hard to swallow. But it was the only option she had. The editor at the Daily Prophet cared more about that name than her eleven years with the Harpies. It was either her husband's name and an assignment to Quiddith or her name and a column on life with him. She chose the one that brought her a little bit of happiness, but didn't make her any less of a sell-out.

She huffed at the thought that Malfoy knew exactly what to say to wrench her attention from the game in front of her. They were getting far too personal.

"Mr. Malfoy," she replied and was satisfied to hear his uncomfortable shifting. Ginny wasn't the only one who shared a name. She laughed as Ron's favorite chaser took a Quaffle to the ear, but frowned when Malfoy took the seat next to her. She refused to look at him and focused on all the empty seats he could have chosen instead.

"Ginevra, your article on my Falcon beater."

She wished he wouldn't lean on her armrest like that. It would've been the better to hear him in the excitement of a good Quiddith match, but this wasn't one. Instead, it reminded her too much of whispering and all the intimacy that insinuated. It was unnecessary and she couldn't afford them such easy familiarity.

"How is Astoria this morning, Draco?"

She didn't know whether that was meant to remind him or her. Either way, he pulled his arm off the shared armrest and she could breathe again.

"Blithe and beautiful as always. Potter?"

"Smashing."

"Fantastic." He was aggravated from the un-pleasantries and that kept her comfortable. "Now that's been established, your article on Cleaver, if you please."

Ginny put on her best I'm-Far-Too-Busy face. Both of them knew it was a farce and Malfoy usually had far less polite terms for it. He wouldn't use them in public, even if they only shared the room with three or four others. She was disappointed, despite herself. Name-calling was the best way to work up a good fight. With a glance at his face, she thought they might not need it. She hated the flutter in her stomach at the thought that this row was likely to be the highlight of her day.

"The expose on his illegal use of Dragon Egg Draught?"

"Supposed, Ginevra. Supposed. Your solicitors might not have drilled the language of law into your head but mine certainly have. Speaking of which, you're likely to be contacted by one this afternoon, or twelve."

"I only report the facts. People make their own conclusions."

"Bollocks."

The Cannons were falling so far behind now that she felt it safe to throw him a glare and found him waiting for her with one of his own. It would've been far more impressive if she hadn't seen it a million times before.

"His own mother openly discusses his Dragon Draught and Felix Felicis abuse."

Malfoy shrugged. "You know mothers."

"Telling everyone who listens that her son is a walking Knockturn Alley Apothecary? Right. That's certainly all my mother can talk about when someone asks about me."

"Do I dare quote the reporter?"

"Not if you value your bits," she growled.

"Then lay off my beater. The Falcons are fit for World Cup. And if I have to, I will defend my team's chances. I know what you're thinking, Genevra. Your Harpies are also World Cup material. Without my prime beater-."

"Nothing so Slytherin, Draco. The Harpies can take care of themselves and wallop your Falcons with or without Cleaver. I reported on him because that's what I do now; I report. If you're so worried about your team's chances, perhaps you should tell him to drop the draughts or hang him up before it's too late to work his replacement."

"Suggestion noted and disregarded," he said, pulling away from her to sit stern in his seat. He was a cold draft at her shoulder for the next ten minutes. It took an effort but she was able to ignore him to her satisfaction and enjoyed the Cannon's demise in relative silence.

She was far too pleased when he was first to break it.

"I'm half-tempted to buy that team just to dismantle them. Another field need not be contaminated by such carnage."

Ginny laughed. "They're Ron's favorite team."

"Another fine reason."

Malfoy cringed as the crowd of unwashed masses below them erupted in cheer. One of the Catapults wrestled the quaffle from two of the Cannon chasers. In direct opposition, both Malfoy and Ginny lapsed into silence as the referee launched into the middle of it. He knew she'd have to report on this. It might be the only thing worthy of reporting in the entire game.

He traced Arithmancy symbols on the velvet of their armrest. It was the hand without the ring. She leaned forward in her seat as if to get a better view of the squabble below. It also happened to make it harder for her to watch him. But she could still feel him moving in his seat. She could still smell his aftershave, juniper and aloe. She'd have to cast a refreshing charm on her clothes when he left. Harry would smell it on her and in a moment, he'd jump to the conclusion that Draco was intimidating her in some way. He was over-protective. When she was fifteen, she found it endearing. At thirty-five, she found it puerile. It had cost her too many would-be friends.

Soon the captains joined the fray and the crowd shifted from amusement to annoyance at the interruption. She knew the Catapult's captain had been on the edge of an emotional breakdown for the better part of the season. Cleaver wasn't the only one who resorted to Dragon Egg Draught to improve his drive at the cost of his focus. She scoffed as the referee broke them all apart with a whistle and a few harsh words, allowing for everyone to return to a tedious game.

"Why the hell are you here?" Malfoy suddenly asked. The few VIPs who had schedules so dull as to fill their season seats were either half-drunk on complimentary spirits or napping, or both. An action-packed match it was not, yet she still resented his question.

"I'm not just a name, Draco. I really do report on these games."

"Even a Cannons game with the worst team they've seen in thirty years?"

"Of course, some poor sod like my brother is going to wake up tomorrow morning wondering how badly they lost and there my name will be reporting it to him."

"You could use a ghost-writer. I know plenty of reporters that do."

"So do I. And the day I use a ghost-writer is the day I hex myself in the face."

They listened to the drunks and the tired has-beens in the room, until the Cannons captain began throwing a conniption in front of the rings.

"Surely you wish you'd used a ghost-writer now," Draco idly remarked, stretching his long legs out in front of them. His pants were charcoal cross-hatched with the odd silver thread, perfectly tailored to meet the heel of his hippogriff leather boots but never graze the ground. Harry would never wear Hippogriff leather. He'd probably kick Draco in the shin if he had the ability to recognize it. No doubt that partly the reason Draco wore them. She tried not to think about his past with her husband, complicated and noxious as it was. Very much like their own past. Really, their present was very similar, even more twisted and dangerous.

He took her silence as an answer.

"What would you be doing today if you weren't at a Cannons game?" His tone was entirely too benign.

"Probably would be hanged by my editor for siccing the Malfoy Corp.'s solicitors on him."

"No day's rest for Madame Potter."

Ginny scoffed. "Not with England's libel laws." A moment's pause and consideration. "What the hell are you doing here, Draco? No doubt your solicitors have contacted mine and the Daily Prophet's both. No reason to scuff your heels."

"I thought to give you fair warning." He squinted his eyes as if to concentrate on the mess described as a Quiddith game.

"Ha. I knew it was coming the minute I set quill to paper. No need to deliver the message personally. It's not like we're friends."

He laughed at that. The sound was tenor and fake. She knew enough about him to know when he was forcing it. This was an insecure sound, even more so since he no doubt suspected she might realize it. On too many occasions, she had been reason for the real variety.

Draco set his arm back on the velvet rest between them. His eyes stayed with the game and she watched him until his eyes glanced to her from the corners. He sighed with weariness that she might expect an answer.

"It's not like we're enemies, Ginevra," was his reply. It was also a question. She reached out her hand, the one heavy with a single gold band, and touched his. Ginny squeezed Draco's fingers and held for a moment, then two, before losing her nerve. She pulled away and he understood it for the answer it was.

He gestured with his hand at the field in front of them. "They are paid to play like this? I'd pay Hansel to find better players if this is how he manages his team on his own. Really, this is just insulting."

"And risk your Falcon's fine chance for the World Cup?"

"Well, obviously, I wouldn't help him pick that good of players."

"No, your team is already going to be so embarrassed when they play the Harpies. I trained their star chaser myself. He's almost as good as I was."

"But does he look nearly as good in the uniform?" Draco asked and to her own surprise, Ginny blushed. It felt like she hadn't blushed in years and was quite overcome by the panic of it. Luckily, neither of them took their eyes off the field, holding onto its distraction, and her condition went overlooked.

She cleared her throat and readjusted herself in the seat. "This really is a terrible game."

"Worst I've ever seen." Despite that, he relaxed into his seat beside her in the nearly empty VIP box, ignoring the snores of drunks and murmurs of those catching a quick lie-down. Alone, she would've been in a little hell. Sitting beside him, exchanging scathing evaluations of the players and their owners, she was happy. Later, that would make her infinitely sad.

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	2. Nineteen Years Later

**Nineteen Years Later**

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Ginny Potter was going to kill her son.

Not to say that she didn't love him because on most days she lived and breathed for her children. But today, she was contemplating the idea of shipping him off to Azkaban. There weren't dementors there anymore. It seemed a worthy punishment for pulling her out to Hogwarts when she should be in the middle of an interview with the American Star Seeker, Lizzy Earnheart. Obviously he had no idea how difficult it was to arrange an overseas floo call when six personal assistants, two official representatives, three solicitors, and one very busy agent who can barely recall Harry-Fucking-Potter were involved. And of course, said Harry-Bloody-Potter was far too busy with, "Very important stuff, Ginny-love," to be pulled away. She had no choice. She had to hand the interview over to the only other big name reporter in the office. Rita Skeeter was at the moment conducting her interview and no doubt devoting all her questions to the lesbian rumours instead of whether or not Earnheart was going to be picked up by the Fitchburg Finches.

She was ready to throttle James but instead devoted herself to stomping her feet the entire way from Hogwarts' Apparation Point through the front gates, across the grounds, into the Entrance Hall, past the various classrooms, down more halls, until she found herself seated in the headmistress's office. Ginny forced herself to smile pleasantly at Professor McGonagall.

"What has James done?" was the first thing out of her mouth.

McGonagall smiled. She had grown somewhat serene in her position. War had done much to relieve her of her anxieties. She knew what true atrocities looked like and no child could ever do anything to match that. In her mind, even the worst student act of rebellion was essentially benign. Ginny much preferred the old McGonagall at this moment. "I'm so sorry we had to pull you from your busy schedule, Mrs. Potter."

"Did he maim someone? A Slytherin? He maimed a Slytherin, didn't he?"

"Oh no. The Slytherins know how to handle him."

"What did he blow up?"

"Nothing this time. Please, sit down."

"Thank you." Ginny took a seat. "I told Harry this is all his fault, naming him after Sirius and his father both. With a name like that, how could he avoid being a hellion? And then with George as an uncle? It's really not his fault, bless him. It's the genes."

"No doubt. Now we are waiting on one other." Just as she said it, there was a polite tap-tap-tap on the door. McGonagall looked slightly annoyed at the timing. "Enter. Ah, hello, Mr. Malfoy. Please, take a seat. We haven't yet started."

He inclined his head in McGonagall's direction before glancing at Ginny. He gave an infinitesimal pause that betrayed him for only a half-second. He wasn't surprised by her, as she was by him. But he was uncertain around her. "Madam Potter," he said in recovery and she bit her tongue to keep her focus. She turned it into a smile and tight, "Mr. Malfoy," for a reply.

"Don't tell me he did something to Scorpius." She looked at McGonagall with worry. "Is Albus all right?"

"They both are just fine, Ginny," McGonagall said.

"And I doubt very much that we'll ever meet here under those conditions, Madam," Malfoy said, leaning on the armrest of his chair nearest to her. He crossed an ankle over a knee and pretended to get comfortable. "Scorpius has the soul of a peace-maker."

"Are you sure he's yours?"

"Mr. Malfoy is here as a representative of Hogwart's Governing Board," McGonagall quickly inserted.

"More specifically, I am head of their legal subcommittee," Malfoy added.

"Of course you are," Ginny said with a flippant gesture before remembering that somehow her son was part of this. "Sweet Merlin, can someone please tell me what my James has done to call the attention of the legal subcommittee?"

"It appears James has developed quite a liking for potions," McGonagall responded vaguely.

"And has taken to testing them on first years," Malfoy added. "Does that sound familiar?"

Ginny groaned. "I am going to kill George."

"Two Hufflepuffs are now purple." McGonagall somehow managed to deliver such a statement with a straight face and grave voice.

"Purple?"

"From the tops of their heads to their toenails."

"How-?"

"We already have several experts from St. Mungo's here working on it," Malfoy said. "Fortunately, the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor boys regained consciousness on their own."

Ginny could only stare at him in silence and horror.

Malfoy noted her expression and smirked. "It appears Cleaver isn't the only one that needs to drop the draughts." He was trying to incite her. She understood it was the only way he knew to help. She was brilliant when angry. When she was overwhelmed is when she might fall apart. She rolled her eyes in a sort of thank you.

"Do I need to contact our family solicitor, Draco?"

"No doubt she should be told. But the worst are the Hufflepuffs and their families are more concerned that we do everything in our power to restore their natural colours than bringing you or a twelve-year-old boy to court. The Ravenclaw was his co-instigator. And the Gryffindors are standing by him in a show of house unity." His eyes connected with hers and calm flooded her. "I have it contained, Ginevra," he promised and she smiled.

"I'm surprised James isn't here."

McGonagall smirked. "He happens to have been the last Gryffindor to regain consciousness. Madam Pomfrey hasn't yet released him."

"It appears that only the Ravenclaw boy was smart enough not to test on himself." She could hear the smile in Malfoy's voice. "But if you'd like to see him, I'll be happy to escort you to the Hospital Wing. The board did have quite a few things they wished for me to communicate to you." He turned his I'm-Just-So-Damn-Charming smile on the headmistress, who eyed it with suspicion. "Knowing Hogwarts as I do, you must have ten other things screaming for your attention, Professor. Thank you for your time and entertaining us in your office."

McGonagall was quick to snatch up the offer. She might have gone a bit soft with the students in the intervening years, but she certainly hadn't lost her no-nonsense schedule. Malfoy offered Ginny his arm when the door closed behind them, as they stood together on the flight of stairs.

She ignored it.

It had been his ring hand.

She never touched that one. He knew that.

They took the stairs in synch and the sound of it filled her head. Hippogriff boots made a dull thud. It didn't travel as far; better for surprising on someone. Her suede boots clacked on each stone. She imagined the walls winced and it made her feel powerful. Malfoy said it fit her personality. That made her smile. They let their steps talk for them until the quiet of the hallways. The children were in class and it almost felt like they were alone. They were never alone.

"Where is Potter?"

"France, but he'll be home tonight."

"Couldn't make the time for his own son?"

"That's unfair, Draco." She changed the subject without doing so. "How is Astoria handling the empty house?

He actually paused. "She has this idea in her head that she wants another."

"House?" Ginny laughed. "You have three, don't you?"

"Four and not a house, Ginevra." He lowered his voice. "She wants another baby."

That caused Ginny to lose her stride. His hand ghosted up her arm, reminding her that there would be ground to support her with the next step. There was. She could breathe again after two more. He dropped his hand. They were always being watched. He used his body language to remind her. She used his wife to remind him. It was his way to be gentle. It was hers to be unkind.

"Only natural," Ginny said.

Malfoy made a noncommittal sound.

"You going to do it?"

He didn't reply.

"You should." Now it was his turn to lose a step. His quick glance made sure she understood he resented her for it. "If it'd make Astoria happy. You said she was happy when Scorpius was a baby."

"Perhaps I don't want one."

"Oh Draco, we both know that you do. You love children." Ginny forced herself to smile. "This might be your last chance. Once he returns home for hols, no doubt she'll regain her sanity."

"Last chance indeed." There was some dark amusement in his tone and then seriousness. "Do you want more, Ginevra?" For a moment, he glanced at her with significance and she knew what he had in mind.

"Don't even think it, Draco." She hadn't meant for her tone to be so harsh. His expression froze over at the sound of it.

"Then don't tell me what I want."

Ginny hurt. The walls winced with her every step. His were a dull heartbeat in her ears. Malfoy escorted her to the Hospital Wing in silence.

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	3. Twenty Years Later

**Twenty Years Later**

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Ginny believed wizards should never be allowed to name children.

Certainly, none of the wizards she knew. In retrospect, she had no idea what she was thinking, allowing Harry and Draco to name their own babies. She could have interceded; she could have saved them from a lifetime of even this nominal misery. In the very least, she could have saved this one.

"Majesta Malfoy, you poor, poor thing," Ginny whispered over the child asleep in her lap. "What was I thinking?" The words hung in the air between them for a few breathless moments before dissipating like so much dust motes. It was more than just that terrible name. It was the choice she had made that led to this little girl, barely a month young but old with attached memory and consequences. It was hard to look at her and not see. In that round, slightly cranky face, Ginny's eyes saw the product of so much misery. She was everything wrong and yet right in the world. She was everything she never looked for, never would have asked for, but in the moment, needed more than anything before. It hurt her heart and her womb to look at her.

She insinuated her finger between Majesta's pudgy baby fingers. Her nails were too long. She'd have to remember to cut them. It wouldn't do to have Majesta scratch her own face. She was a Malfoy after all. Draco never thought of that kind of thing. He said that's what house elves were for and, when he was particularly playful or unkind, he said that's what she was for.

They sat in one of the Malfoy manor's conservatories. This one was devoted to exotic herbs and fragrant, edible flowers. It permeated the room from the stone floor up to the glass ceiling, seven or eight meters above her head. There was the bite of turmeric in her nose, smoky paprika at the back of her throat, with fresh curry powder filling her head. This room was warm. The air was full and moist. The filtered sunlight was soft.

She hoped it'd help Majesta breathe easier. Ginny closed her eyes and breathed in the sunlight and spices with the sleeping baby. Her baby, in this special spot. They breathed in magic without memory there. They belonged. It was calm.

All was well and right.

Or it was close.

She listened to the dull approach of Hippogriff boots on stone floor, made a fuller sound in the yawning space above their heads. He didn't say a word but sat beside her on the bench. His knee touched hers. The touch sent her spiraling down until she felt heavy and far too real. The sunlight was sharp when she opened her eyes.

"Astoria?" she asked.

"Calm and unconscious," he said. Malfoy bent over his knees, put his sharp chin in a hand. Poor Majesta, just like her brother, had inherited that chin though the baby fat hid it well. "We had to give her Dreamless Sleep."

"She had herself so worked up over this?"

"Yes."

"Scorpius has to have had a cold before."

He scoffed. "Not as a baby. He was old enough for her to give him Pepperup. Can't give Pepperup to an infant. Astoria doesn't know what to do without potions. Had the house elves running into each other and the walls with her frenzy."

"She is a good mother."

"Perhaps," he said. He looked at her. She could feel it. She'd learned to ignore it but only because she was more aware of it than ever. "Though perhaps not a very effective one . . . I would think the spices would aggravate her."

Ginny smiled, running her thumb over the tiny fingers. She had to remember to cut the nails, she reminded herself again. She mustn't forget. No one else would remember. "Perhaps if the room were smaller. But it's vented enough and the room is large enough that it only opens the sinuses. And the slight humidity helps soothe."

"I didn't know that you and Potter had a conservatory."

That had a bite to it. She attributed it to his own paternal stress. Ginny supposed the situation allowed her to give him one, but only one. She breathed out her aggravation before answering, "We don't. But you learn to work with what you have."

"Such a survivor, Ginevra," he murmured, almost as if he didn't want the room to hear it. He caressed his daughter's soft, plump cheek with the back of his knuckles. "Fever?"

"No, just warm."

"Hmm."

She rearranged the baby in her lap. The crown of her head rested above Ginny's knees. Her cotton-clad toes brushed Ginny's stomach. Her hand squeezed Ginny's finger. There was no protest. She'd had enough babies to know that they didn't respond to gentle but to careful; they wanted to know you knew what you were doing. They wanted to trust. Ginny always liked babies. They were so simple.

"Who's watching Lily?" It was such an intimate question because she knew he actually cared. It wasn't politesse; it was concern. Draco Malfoy didn't concern himself with many people in the world. And Ginny Potter was one of the few. She almost didn't want to answer because he'd take it as a rebuff.

"Family," she replied vaguely. It was one of Harry's oh-so-few-days-off. They had planned a family picnic in the backyard. Harry had been so understanding when she'd begged off for a few hours. "Business," she'd said just as vaguely. "Believe me, I understand, Gin," he'd said with a sharp smile and soft peck on the cheek. "I'm so sorry," she'd apologized a hundred times but he waved it off with good humour. He was at home baking biscuits with Lily. He was a good man. Just like Astoria was a good woman.

She hated herself because, right now, all she wanted to do was sit here with Astoria's husband and Astoria's daughter. Even with her husband and her daughter waiting for her at home. So understanding because they knew nothing.

Sometimes, life gave you no excuses.

"Majesta, Draco?" Ginny forced herself to laugh. The room had become too heavy. She hoped laughter might help keep it all away. "Really?"

She imagined if he had feathers, they'd be ruffled. "You knew I was going to name her that."

"Yes, but-."

"We agreed on it. And honestly, Ginevra, the time for you to make a fuss over it has passed. Nothing to be done now." It felt like he was trying to close the topic. She wasn't wise enough to heed its warning.

"-As the middle name, Draco," she finished as if he'd never interrupted her. "You agreed that Aurora was a far more usable first name. But you had to have your damn alliteration, didn't you?"

"No."

"Then you just had to have your way."

"Astoria chose it, Ginevra. Since she gave birth to the damn thing, I thought I should probably humour her." The venom in that surprised her and struck her mute for nearly a minute. Majesta fussed. Ginny cooed. Malfoy seethed.

The room cooled.

"You don't call a baby a 'damn thing,' Draco. I don't care how angry you are," Ginny whispered, leaning over and rubbing her nose against a soft cheek. Tiny breaths stirred the hair around her ear. She smiled with it. "Not when I'm in the room. Never when she's in the room. She's a baby but she's also a person. She's your daughter. You don't talk about your daughter that way."

"I suppose Potter would never say such a thing." He was in a tantrum now. She knew he was just trying to hurt, wasn't thinking. Ginny hoped he wouldn't start yelling. The baby needed sleep. She'd wrestle him and force Dreamless Sleep down his throat too if she had to. Her eyes sized him up.

"No, he wouldn't."

"Golden-boy-Potter. Perfect family man, hmm?" She knew what he'd say next. He'd said it plenty of times before. He leaned down and whispered in her ear, "Then why's his wife here with me?"

She wanted to hit him. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to tear this would-be sanctuary down around their ears. It was not a pretty thing. If that were all they had, it would've been so easy. She'd learned that if she waited one minute, two, the truth would win out. Malfoy would say what he actually meant.

"She should be your daughter."

And so would Ginny.

"To me, she is."

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If you enjoyed the piece, or if you didn't, please take the time to leave me a review. No matter how short, I really appreciate the feedback. Thanks.


	4. TwentyOne Years Later

**Twenty-One Years Later**

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Gringotts had yet to forgive the Potter or Weasley families.

It didn't matter that they had only dared break into the bank to save the Wizarding World as they knew it. All the goblins remembered was that singular day that Harry, Ron, and Hermione had left the bank in ruin and their pride in shreds. Goblins knew how to hold a grudge.

They weren't the only ones.

Ginny hated Gringotts. Maybe it was because they treated her even worse than Harry and Ron, since she reminded them of both. Perhaps it was because her family had been so poor. Possibly it was because so many people now expected her to be rich. She rather thought it was the feel of the entire place: cavernous yet empty. It was always cold. It smelled liked honeybee wax and smoke. Sounds didn't travel naturally, the insignificant made too loud and the very important swallowed without a breath. The air tasted like metal and nervous sweat of dozens of people pretending they weren't there. The entire place represented a huge embarrassment to everyone involved. The goblins believed they were filthy for dealing with the wizarding world. The wizards and witches felt that they were dirtied by dealing with the goblins. And that was without the taboo of wealth involved. The poor didn't talk about it because they didn't have anything. The well-to-do didn't talk about it because they didn't think they had enough. The rich didn't talk about it because they feared others might realize they had too much.

This was where everyone hid their secrets and not very well since everyone knew about it. But it was polite policy to pretend that you didn't. Ginny never liked pretending she didn't see what was right in front of them all. So it seemed poetic that she'd see him here. They stood at the counter for three minutes with certainly no more than a yard between them but dared not acknowledge each other. She listened to his breath; tried to slow her own. She saw the plaster had finally been removed from his right wrist; tried not to smile. Finally, Ginny had the gall to break the spell. "Mr. Malfoy."

His posture was stiff and his voice a dead-end post. "Madam Potter."

He stuck that nose of his in the air. She knew he was uncomfortable. His wife was near. He held her gloves in one of his hands. They were crushed velvet, color of honey, with embroidered roses rendered in peach art nouveau. Some part of Ginny coveted them and their owner. That feeling made them ugly. At her glance, he stashed them into a pocket. Ginny couldn't see Astoria anywhere. She switched Lily's robe from one arm to the other. It was a light wool, cerulean with fabric-covered clasps, too short by their standards but in vogue by children's; not as expensive as those gloves but bought specifically for the girl, which was more than Ginny had ever had. He saw the gesture as she meant him to and now his eyes flicked around the room, searching for signs of her daughter.

The goblins seemed to ignore the interaction altogether.

But both she and he knew better than to think they went unwatched. They were never alone.

Malfoy's goblin was the first to conclude their business and direct him to a waiting cart. He paused only a moment, cleared his throat, looked anywhere but at her. "Madam Potter."

"Mr. Malfoy." She smiled and looked directly at him. He hated when she did that in public. Her goblin held out her wand but she ignored him. "Do tell your wife hello for me."

He glanced at her, eyes sizing up her intentions. Malfoy nodded. "And Potter," he sneered. She laughed. The goblin wagged her wand with irritation. She finally took it as Malfoy was led away. Her goblin watched him go before glancing at her with an ugly smirk. The goblins still hadn't forgiven Harry. No doubt, they'd think it some bit of justice that someone might dare steal something well guarded from him. That day, they seemed to forgive her and treated her not as they did her husband, but as well as they treated Malfoy.

Ginny really hated Gringotts.

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	5. TwentyTwo Years Later

**Twenty-Two Years Later**

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Her biggest secret was that she had come to resent Quidditch.

It wasn't her most damning secret but it certainly was her biggest one. She shared this life-altering revelation with absolutely no other soul in the world. Her husband didn't know about it. Not even Malfoy knew about it. The sad and darkly humorous part is that if asked, neither man would believe she kept a secret from them. She'd made sure of that. Quidditch helped.

The wizarding wireless in their bedroom woke her and Harry up every morning to an all-Quidditch station. Some mornings, he'd ask her to turn it off. Sometimes she did. And then sometimes they'd talk. Most of the time, they wouldn't. They'd just lay there in the silence. He was comfortable with it. She wasn't. So to avoid those dreadful moments, at the expense of the good ones, she usually shushed him and pretended to listen to the scores she'd known the day before. Harry hated that and complained.

It gave her an excuse to be angry with him.

She'd found that during the day, it was almost impossible to sit in a pub and not hear someone talking about Quidditch. She used to meet Malfoy in those pubs and it'd give them an easy avenue of discussion. They weren't afraid to be seen then. If anyone asked, she'd tell them Malfoy was a source. They'd assume Quidditch and ask no more questions.

For the beginning of her relationship with Malfoy, it was a gateway excuse.

At the end of the day, it was also an exit strategy. She began covering more international games. Over twenty years ago, she'd learned that sometimes work would take Harry away from her, for a night, for a week, to some get-away-place that she'd never quite be aware of. She was used to it from him. This year, Harry was learning that same lesson from her. He was finding it hard to get used to. But he knew Ginny Potter lived Quidditch and he wouldn't take that away from her; knew he had no right to take it away from her.

It was her get-away excuse.

Quidditch had her in Chicago. The children were all away in Scotland at Hogwarts. Harry was home alone in Britain. Astoria was as good as alone, vacationing in Venice with her parents and Majesta.

"So somewhere there is an idiot in a box pretending to be a sex-crazed alien?" Malfoy was watching telly in her muggle hotel room. She'd given up on explaining the technology to him months ago. Now when bored or moody, Malfoy theorized for himself. "Or do they electrocute him and his memories become vaporized until these machines decipher them like a plebian pensieve?"

"They don't electrocute him," she replied testily. Honestly, she wasn't quite sure about the rest. Harry had explained it to her years ago but she never quite understood. She supposed that could be why she was so annoyed. She knew it was just an excuse.

"Pity. That'd be worth watching. Unlike this dribble."

She sat in the middle of the bed with scrolls and quills littering the surface until only snatches of flowers hinted at the coverlet underneath. Ginny had finished her article an hour ago. But it was an excuse to keep the bed off-limits. Malfoy knew how serious a Quidditch journalist she was and would never take that from her.

"Why do you always have to say things like that?"

He glanced over his shoulder. Whatever he saw caused him to lower the volume on the telly, even while relaxing back into the chintz sofa. She could almost see him pull on his good-breeding like armour, or throw it in her face as a first volley. "Are we honestly about to fight over a muggle contraption?"

"It's not the telly, Draco."

"Thank Circe for small mercies."

"Stop the sarcasm."

"I haven't even started, Ginevra."

She threw her quill down on her pile of source material and various versions of the article she didn't need to travel anywhere to write. "What the bloody fuck am I doing?" She cradled her face in her hands.

"That's what I'm wondering at this moment."

"I shouldn't be here."

He met that with absolute silence.

"You shouldn't be here," she continued.

He'd gone cold but she didn't care. Ginny's tongue had a mind of its own. "I was raised better than this."

"And I wasn't?" It was as much an accusation as a question. "Why, thank you. I particularly enjoy how your up-bringing is off-limits but mine is always fair game."

"You know what I mean."

"Yes and that's the crux of the issue."

She pulled her hands away from her face and glared at him. Ginny wanted nothing more than to hate him at this moment. Or at least, she wanted him to hate her as much as she'd come to hate herself. From his expression, she thought she might succeed. The idea that it could all break apart so easily made her furious. "I haven't said a damn thing that isn't true."

"So as long as it's true, we're allowed to say it? Bloody brilliant, because I might have a few things to say then."

"Fine. Tell me what you really think, Draco Malfoy."

"Your family."

"Of course. You've been dying to talk about them." She scoffed. "Go ahead. Let's hear about how poor we were and what dirty, blood-traitoring breeders my parents were."

He smiled and it was a sick remnant of the bully she remembered from their childhood. "Too easy. No, let's talk about what goes unsaid in your perfect, Gryffindor family."

She crossed her arms. "Fine. Make an arse of yourself."

He tossed the remote aside and leaned forward as if in anticipation. "Let's start from the top, shall we? Mummy and daddy."

"Sounds brilliant. I so look forward to telling you what I think about Lucius."

"Your mother's mental."

"Pfft!"

"I don't mean that as a simple insult. I mean that she is ten years ready for St. Mungo's."

"Mentioning the jumper, Draco? That's low even for you."

"Every time I've seen her over the last ten years, she's been wearing that ghastly jumper with the great big bloody F on the front of it." Malfoy pulled a face. "Does she ever even wash it?"

Ginny gasped but couldn't reply for several seconds from the sheer force of her indignation. Of course, there was probably more to her pause. Perhaps it was the fact that it was a common occurrence to remind her mother that Fred's jumper could do with a freshening charm. It reminded them of what they lost every time they saw her.

Ginny jumped off the bed.

"You have no room to speak with that crazy bitch as your aunt."

He had the audacity to shrug. "Nearly twenty years in Azkaban will do that to a witch."

"She deserved it. My mum lost a child. No one deserves that!"

"It was a war! What was your mother thinking, allowing her children to fight in a war against the greatest wizard alive?"

"The greatest wizard alive? Greatest!" She laughed and it was shrill and ugly. "Still a little Death Eater inside you, huh? Like father, like son. Lucius was eager enough to sell your skin. And he's come out of it with sanity firmly intact. How revolting."

Finally, she'd riled him up enough that he forgot his feigned disinterest and sprung from the couch with a pointed finger in her direction. "He had no choice! The Dark Lord killed his best wizards for even the slightest hesitation. He didn't sell my skin. He sold his soul to protect it!"

"And what about your mum? How do you explain that?"

"He loves her."

"He raped her." She smiled as all of the colour drained from his face. "What was it? Fourth year, you said?"

"I never said he raped her." Malfoy's voice was low and quiet. She hadn't heard that sound in nearly two years. Last time, it had ended with him slamming his fist into the wall as she walked out the door.

"He hurt her," she replied in much the same tone, but relishing it. She enjoyed rubbing the salt in a deep as it could go. No one hurt Draco Malfoy like Ginny did. It was a privilege she couldn't be proud of. "You don't hurt someone you love, Draco."

"Of course you do," he snarled back. "You hurt them the worst." This time, he was the first to walk out with the door banging closed behind him. With all that anger and no one to hate, she followed and slammed her hand into the door where his face would be.

And she was alone. The telly flickered light across the sofa where Malfoy had sat but was left mute from the exchange. Her wrist and knuckles throbbed with her pulse but she had too much pride to do anything about it. A dozen different copies of an article on the Quidditch she'd grown to resent lay scattered across the floor. But she was too tired to pick it all up. She wallowed in regret and recrimination.

There were no excuses.

No one hurt her like she did.

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	6. TwentyThree Years Later

**Twenty-Three Years Later**

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"We must stop meeting like this, Mr. Malfoy," Ginny smiled darkly from her seat in the front of the ground floor's Divination classroom. She couldn't say she missed the incense and pigeon scat but Professor Firenze had always intimidated her more than Professor Trelawney. She could handle mental, it was the truly mystic that made her twitch. Even now as a nearly 40-year-old woman, she found herself squirming in her seat if the centaur so much as turned his intuitive gaze her direction. To her relief, Malfoy looked doubly uncomfortable.

And he was ignoring her.

At least, she had grown accustomed to that.

"Please sit, Mr. Malfoy," Firenze said when it looked like Malfoy couldn't decide whether to sit like Ginny or remain standing like the centaur. She had gone through the same, awkward routine when she had arrived. It seemed that Professor Firenze was accustomed to it from his human associates. In his defense, he could hardly sit to help put them at ease.

He indicated the seat beside Ginny, and Malfoy had no choice but to take it.

She noticed his Hippogriff leather boots, the smell of him, juniper and aloe, and a new scar on the side of his neck, just below his ear. It was tiny but she knew every line of him and recognized each new one. He was beginning to look too old too young.

"I trust you received my report on the incident?" Firenze's voice was cool and calm, marginally accented to the discerning ear. Malfoy's lip began to curl.

"Are you sure that Scorpius instigated it?"

"Quite, Mr. Malfoy."

"That is very unlike him."

"Indeed."

Malfoy scowled. "I find it hard to believe."

Ginny rubbed at her lips with a forefinger to cover a smirk.

"Especially since the Potters have a history of being the instigators."

"Oy!" Ginny readjusted her seat in indignation so that she faced him. "I'd thank you if we could keep the family insults to a minimum, Malfoy. A small courtesy I'd think considering what your son did."

He didn't even look at her.

He seemed to prefer centering his attention on the centaur. A huge insult, considering that Ginny knew he had not abandoned many of his old prejudices, including those for uppity magical creatures.

"Surely Albus incited him in some manner."

"Not within my field of vision."

"That doesn't mean it didn't happen."

"No. But it remains unlikely. I am very observant of the children in my care."

Malfoy scoffed. "Children who many believe should not be in your care."

"There's no reason to insult him, Draco." She rolled her eyes and straightened her skirt.

"It is quite all right, Madam Potter. I am aware of the Malfoy family's opinion on my tenure. However, that does not change the fact that young Mr. Malfoy has admitted to cursing his fellow student."

"The headmistress seems to believe the matter has been properly handled. I don't see why this warrants further discussion with you," Malfoy said, while standing as if to take an early exit. "This is a waste of my time."

"Time cannot be dictated, avoided, or wasted. It simply is. Though I do understand your meaning and frustrations, as I too feel as if this is a conversation fated to failure. However, it was also your actions that necessitated this. Did you not demand that you speak to the professor that witnessed your son's actions?"

"Yes," he replied through clenched teeth. "The professor. You are not qualified to be called such. If my son is being punished on the testimony of a half-breed beast-"

"Draco!"

"-I can hardly expect the full picture has been disclosed."

"As you wish." Firenze sincerely did not look like he cared one way or another.

"So sorry to waste your time, Madam Potter," Malfoy spat in her direction before sweeping from the classroom in a manner that would have made the late Professor Snape's black heart proud. She was up, out of her chair, and following him before she quite knew what she was doing.

Ginny followed him through three corridors, ignoring the looks of curious students as they passed. Finally, the stairs conspired in her favor and swung to new destinations just as he was about to take the first step. He rounded on her with a well-bred sneer.

"What!"

Considering the beet-red shade of his face, she was astounded with her self-control when she didn't laugh. Instead, she pointedly glared over his shoulder at the Ravenclaw boys tittering behind the nearest statue. They were in retreat before Malfoy even turned around.

"I have nothing to say to you, Ginevra."

"Fine."

That brought him up short. "What?"

"I said fine."

He took the moment to toss her a suspicious glance before taking up the reset staircase. She followed. Ginny nearly ran into his back when he stopped between steps. "Are you hounding me for a reason?"

"I had thought to have words with you, yes."

"Ah. You are so found of those."

"But then I thought better of it."

"…And?"

"And this happens to be the shortest circuit to the infirmary. Ron is there right now, waiting to help me escort Albus to St. Mungo's."

He didn't cringe at that, but he did go unnaturally still. At least, mentioning her son's injuries brought some reaction out of him. When she thought of it, she only felt so incredibly sad. Albus and Scorpius had been such good friends. Unfortunately, a Malfoy never forgave nor forgot. Potters and Weasleys weren't much better.

"I have no doubt your son instigated this."

For a solid ten seconds, she seriously considered pushing that wizard over the stair rail.

"Scorpius didn't tell you what started their argument?" she asked instead. "Because Albus told me."

"No doubt, he claimed himself the hapless victim."

"Not particularly. Your son shouldn't have lost his temper, but I can't help but think he's as little to blame as Albus." Ginny paused before an explanation and looked around them. Students peppered the stairs above their heads. She sighed. "We need privacy."

That was a concern Malfoy could always appreciate. He nodded tightly and they continued their journey in silence. By unspoken agreement, she followed him. He led them into an empty storage room on the fifth floor. It might have one time been a bedroom but now was filled with broken chairs and brooms. One large window cast a lazy haze on a pile of empty, unframed canvases.

"It appears you have a problem with your wife, Draco."

"Glass houses, Ginevra."

She ignored the barb. "Astoria's been using your son as her confidante." A moment's pause and Ginny could see the ramifications of that statement occur to him. "She's told Scorpius about all the problems you've been having in your marriage for years; problems that she's told him in no uncertain terms should be blamed on me."

"…Fuck."

"Yes."

He began to pace the room. A minute passed. Finally, he kicked one of the chairs across the floor.

"He told Albus that?"

"Yes."

"And Albus told you that?"

"Yes. And Ron."

"Bloody fuck."

"Yes."

Another chair went skidding into the nearest wall.

"What exactly did she tell him?"

"That you've been shagging me for years."

Two portraits joined the growing pile.

"That you encouraged Scorpius to be friends with Albus because of it."

She cringed at the sound of wood snapping.

"Really, Draco! Someone will hear you."

"Muffliato!" Now he looked like he would bring his wand into the destruction. "What else?"

Ginny doubted the wisdom of feeding his rage.

"…Other things."

"What other things, Ginevra?"

"That you're Lily's father."

"Ha! As if there's ever been a ginger Malfoy."

"Go bugger yourself, Draco."

He grinned at that. It wasn't a particularly friendly gesture, but it reminded her of why she so often fell into bed with him. They both loved to struggle and strike. It was times like these where she realized that she didn't deserve good, dependable Harry. It was times like these where she wondered what the war really did to her. She feared that what drew her to Draco was what drew her to Tom.

"Albus' reaction was to question Majesta's paternity," she said. "I believe that is when Scorpius hexed him."

"Good man."

"Don't be an imbecile."

He threw a table with a mindless wingardium leviosa, but his heart no longer seemed into the destruction. She crossed the room to the window overlooking the greenhouses, their glass roofs glittering in winter sun. A few minutes of quiet passed before he joined her there.

"Ironic, isn't it? The first time in years we aren't shagging each other and that's when the old witch gets wise."

"She should never have told Scorpius those things," Ginny replies. "But otherwise, you and I really have no right to complain."

"Does Albus believe it?" he asked.

"Scorpius does. That's enough to eventually get Albus thinking."

"And the Weasel?"

She had to smirk at the name, though she backhanded Malfoy's shoulder for it. "He's ready to duel a 13-year-old boy for my honour."

Malfoy scoffed. "Naturally. If he comes anywhere near my son, I'll hex his bollocks off."

"He'd never honestly threaten a child, Draco."

"And what about Potter? What will the Golden Boy's reaction be? Five galleons says he floos his publicist before he even asks you whether or not it's true."

"Shut up." She couldn't respond better because she knew Harry was likely to do just that. "I don't know how he'll react." In all honesty, they likely would never discuss it. Harry avoided serious, emotional discussions like the plague. If she so much as looked like she wanted to discuss their relationship, he found a reason to be on another continent. She wasn't much better. "I'm more worried about Albus and Scorpius."

"I'm going to kill my wife," Draco muttered under his breath. Ginny looked at him sidelong, unsure whether to take him seriously or not.

"Astoria has never been a happy person," Ginny replied. "You knew who you were marrying, Draco."

"No, I didn't." He clenched his jaw. They still weren't really looking at each other. However, they were able to stand within each other's space without trying to tear the other's eyes out. That was a definite improvement. "All I cared about was that she was not as giggly and as frivolous as others. She was Pure-Blood. And she wasn't Slytherin. That essentially met all my requirements."

"You know, with those requirements, you could've married Luna."

Malfoy couldn't help a bark of laughter. She nudged him with her shoulder.

There was another minute or two of silence. The dust settled around them. They stared out the same window, occupied the same space, breathed the same air, but remained painfully separate.

"A lot of people married for marriage's sake after the war," she said. "We were encouraged to do so. Some were lucky. Some, not as such. Perhaps we could have made better choices. Maybe we have some excuse for the worst ones. What do you think?"

Malfoy finally nudged her shoulder back and sighed. "We are so buggered."

Ginny laughed and turned away from the window. Malfoy still could not look at her but at least his stance was welcoming, if not affectionate. She rubbed his back before leaving the room. He sent her an owl a week later.

Harry didn't even ask.

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If you enjoyed the piece, or if you didn't, please take the time to leave me a review. No matter how short, I really appreciate the feedback. Thanks.


	7. TwentyFour Years Later

A/N: I'd like to send a big thank you to my friend TrialLunatic, who helped me with Draco's French in this chapter. If you want a translation of what he says, it'll be available at the end of the chapter. You can find her account in my Favorite Author's List. She has five stories of her own.

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**Twenty-Four Years Later**

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Ginny couldn't stop smiling that day. Even if Voldemort had risen from the dead and held her at wand-point, she wouldn't have been able to wipe that grin off her face. She felt young. She was happy. She was in love.

It wasn't because she was in Paris. She'd been there before, plenty of times. Harry had taken her there during a continental tour for their honeymoon. Quidditch and reporting had brought her back many times over the years. It wasn't because she was particularly impressed by the Eiffel Tower or the Espace Dali Museum. No doubt, it was a muggle thing. However, she made sure to take plenty of pictures for her father of the muggles enjoying the sights.

She smiled because Malfoy looked like a complete ponce when he spoke French.

He also liked playing with muggle tourists.

She suspected he took her to the parks to do just that. Today, they were in the Parc de la Villette. He said he wanted to see the Cité des Sciences et de l'Industrie. She knew he just liked to laugh at muggles and their contraptions.

She indulged him because she was pretty sure by this point that she was in love with him.

"Excuse me?" The man and his wife were walking clichés. Trainers on their feet. Jumpers tied around their waists. Strange little muggle cameras in hand. And, of course, lost First Year expressions on their faces.

Draco turned to them with a polite, interested air. Ginny grinned behind a hand.

"Can you help us find the Louvre?" The lilt of the man's voice said they were Australian.

Malfoy cringed at the massacre of pronunciation. "The Louvre?" His French accent was perfect.

"Yes," the man said.

"Oui," his wife said with a shy smile.

"Oui. Très bon," Malfoy replied to her with what a stranger might've misread as indulgence, but Ginny knew was patronization and jest. He looked back at the man. "Le Louvre se trouve à l'autre extrême de la ville. Vous vous êtes vraiment égaré. Et malheureusement, dû aux regards vacants indiqués sur vos visages, je m'emène à croire que vous n'avez aucune idée de dont ce j'articule présentement. J'espère que vous n'êtes pas représentatifs de l'efficacité du système scolaire en Australie."*

His face was all earnestness and gave them no clue that he was insulting their intelligence and their country. His hands fluttered and flounced in a way that should've offended the entire nation of France. Malfoy had a very individual sense of humour. Ginny appreciated it. No doubt, her husband would think it slightly cruel.

"Yes, we're from Australia," the woman said. "Do you speak English? I mean, parlez-vous anglais?"

Before Malfoy could continue, Ginny cut in. "The Louvre is across town," she said. "It's on the Right Bank. I suggest you jump on the metro. There will be signs to help you find the way."

"Thank you!" the man said to Ginny with a jolly smile that made her feel slightly guilty. "Hopefully we'll find our way. I'm impossible with maps. Sorry for taking your time."

"Merci," his wife said to Malfoy, who affected a florid little bow.

Ginny waited until they were out of earshot before elbowing him in the ribs. He was all affronted innocence. When he was a child, it no doubt could've gotten him away with murder. As a wizard over forty, it made him look petulant and immature. She didn't buy it either way.

"You should be ashamed of yourself."

The façade broke and he grinned like an imp. He insinuated his arm around her waist. They fell into step with each other.

"You are enjoying yourself." He said it like it was judgment and sentencing.

"I am." The sun was bright and jumped on a thousand different sights. The grass was a crisp green the color of Ginny's favorite dress. The sky had so much dimension that she was tempted to reach out for it. "Such a beautiful day."

Malfoy pulled her closer to his side. "I have a flat here that no one knows about." To others, it might've been a non sequiter. Ginny understood how his mind worked.

"So, three weeks until they found us." That wasn't a rebuff. He knew that.

He smiled at the sky. "By then, we would be somewhere else."

"Italy?"

"How conventional. I was thinking Barbados."

"Sweet Merlin, can you imagine how many freckles I'd get?"

He pulled a face. "Can you get any more?"

She stepped on his foot. They both almost tripped. He laughed and walked them through it.

"Alright. Barbados. Then where?" she asked.

"Russia."

"I want to go to China."

He groaned. "Do you have any idea how much the Chinese wizarding community relies on connections and inside information? It'll take months just to find them."

"You're just upset that the Malfoy name will mean nothing there."

He ignored the statement and she took that to mean she was right. "Then Egypt. Now there is a wizarding community worth lingering in. They have evidence of wizarding societies a thousand years before Merlin. Fascinating stuff."

"The galleon also has a better exchange rate there than in China or Italy."

"I love how you think, Ginevra." Malfoy squeezed her side. "Actually, I have always wanted to see the Book of the Dead in person. They have enough magical relics to keep me busy for years."

"You sound like Hermione." She couldn't have gotten a more physical reaction if she'd punched him in the gut. "Oh shut it, that's a compliment." He looked doubtful. It was best to change the subject. "After Egypt?"

"Who says we ever need to leave Egypt?"

"Freckles, remember."

"I'll buy you a hat."

"And you will burn."

"I'll buy myself a hat."

She laughed. "With what money? Once we go missing, I won't be able to use my vault without leading Harry right to us. And you know that once he goes looking, he'll get the idea that you snatched me up because of a schoolboy rivalry nearly thirty years in the past. No doubt, your accounts will be traced or, worse yet, frozen. How will we support your lifestyle? You're a very expensive man to keep."

"I can live economically."

She scoffed.

"Malfoys are survivors," he argued.

"Have you ever even made your own pot of tea?"

He smiled winningly. "That's why I'd keep you around."

"Never mind. We wouldn't have the money to buy tea."

They walked in silence and tandem step over a manicured lawn and in the shadow of its concrete Folly.

"I could always sell my body," he finally said with such seriousness that Ginny nearly hurt herself laughing. "I'd make a fortune in a week. We'd live in luxury for the rest of our lives."

"Right, Draco." She patted his arm like she did to Ron when he had a row with Hermione and couldn't figure out what he did wrong.

"It's a good plan," he said. The indignant man with a boy's pout was back.

She rolled her eyes with good humour.

"We could do it."

He meant it. She didn't smile. Neither of them laughed. They stopped in the middle of the lawn and her spirit fell like a rock at his feet.

"Not this year," she replied. She looked everywhere but at him.

He took her chin between his thumb and fingers. "How much longer do I have to wait?"

They both knew why they shouldn't but Malfoy was used to getting what he wanted. When he decided he needed to have something, it was always just a matter of time in his mind. Ginny's world was a little more complicated. She saw the web of relationships and the cascading effect of such a choice that Malfoy didn't. Perhaps it was because he had so few real friends. Perhaps it was because he was raised in such a privileged household. Perhaps it was just his personality. Whichever way, she understood that there'd be exponential consequences. Malfoy thought people would get over it. Raised in a family with too many children and not enough money, she understood that sometimes she had to go without in order to help the family.

She could be satisfied by day trips in Paris. Malfoy couldn't.

Luckily, she'd also been forced to learn the art of compromise.

"Thirteen years," Ginny replied. She gave him a date because he needed one but it wouldn't be an arbitrary one.

In thirteen years, all their children would be adults. It wouldn't make it alright but it would make it better. If whatever she had with Malfoy couldn't survive such a wait, it wasn't worth losing her family. If it did survive that time, then she owed it to her family to tell them the truth.

"When Majesta turns seventeen." Malfoy was a smart man. He didn't need it spelled out for him. He nodded. "Sounds fair. Thirteen years, Ginevra. I will hold you to your word." He kissed her temple before briefly brushing her lips with his thumb. It was the most overt sign of affection they'd ever exchanged in public. Paris wasn't so far from London and Harry worked with a lot of people there. The sky was wide and the grass was open; anyone could've seen them. It was a risk.

It was a promise.

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A/N:

Translation of Draco's rant: "The Louvre is found on the other extreme of the city. You've really gotten yourselves lost. And unfortunately, due to the vacant looks shown on your faces, I'm bringing myself to believe that you have no idea of what I'm saying presently. I hope you are not representative of the efficacy of the school system in Australia."

One more chapter to go in the story!

If you enjoyed the piece, or if you didn't, please take the time to leave me a review. No matter how short, I really appreciate the feedback. Thanks.


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